“Vasilisa. What’s wrong?”
I throw a glance at the boat behind him. Yulia and I have been talking about taking a cruise one summer, but I’ve never gathered the courage to actually go.
“What if it sinks?” I blurt out.
“Why would it sink?”
“It’s a boat. They sink all the time.”
“Contrary to what you see in the movies, sinking a water vessel of this size is rather difficult. Unless the yacht hits rocks or collides with another seacraft, there’s no way that’s going to happen.” He bends so our faces are almost level. “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe.”
“And what about water creatures? Like sharks!”
“Well, we’ll be on board. Several feet above the waterline.” His lips pull into a tiny grin. “And in the event we get into a Sharknado scenario, and deadly fish start raining down from the sky, I have a few large caliber weapons stashed below deck.”
My eyes turn to slits as I glare at him. “That movie was beyond stupid.”
“I don’t agree. The original Sharknado is an all-time classic.” Rafael brushes my chin with his thumb, then steps away.
I trail in his wake to the narrow boarding ramp that’s connected to the smaller yacht, eyeing the thing with suspicion. Rafael steps onto it first, then turns around, extending his hand to me. Slowly, I place my palm into his. His fingers wrap around mine, his huge hand completely swallowing my own. With his sleeves rolled up and the midday sun shining down, I can see that it’s not only his hands that bear a plethora of varied uneven scars. There are many on his forearms as well. A particularly long one starts at the inside of his wrist, splits the realistic-looking image of a toothy green snake coiled around two black crossed daggers, then continues all the way up to his elbow.
“Watch your step.”
I look up and meet his gaze. “Don’t let go.”
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes as he tightens his hold on my hand. “Never.”
* * *
The wind blows my hair into my face as I go over the bill of lading for the shipping container Rafael wants me to reroute. It took me almost an hour to get into the freight company system and find the exact cargo ship onto which the container in question was loaded. It shouldn’t have taken me more than twenty minutes, but I kept stealing glances at Rafael as he stood at the yacht’s helm, navigating.
I initially set up my “workstation” on the main deck, inside what looked like a cozy, luxury living room, but I felt queasy after ten minutes and climbed up to the upper deck, planting myself on the curved brown leather sunbed behind the driver’s seat. Or . . . at least, that’s the excuse for settling here that I choose to believe. Seasickness sounds much more acceptable than coming up to this lounge just so I can be closer to the man I can’t seem to ignore.
“Why are we sending this poor container on a trip around the world?” I ask as I continue modifying the records.
Rafael glances at me over his shoulder, then looks back toward the horizon. “Because Calogero’s drug shipment is inside.”
“Well, he won’t be happy when he finds it in Shanghai.”
We’ve come to a stop, and Rafael shuts down the engines. Amid the sound of waves lapping against the yacht’s hull, the telltale clang of the lowering anchor comes from the nose part of the boat.
“I’m counting on it.”
I’m sure he could have gotten one of his tech guys to do this for him, but the fact he asked me instead, makes me giddy with excitement. There aren’t many options for women within Bratva. It’s not like I can go around beating up people who owe us money or provide protection for drug shipments. One of the reasons I chose computer science as a major is that I wanted to help my family in some capacity with my IT know-how.
Grampa Felix is too old to keep up with everything that gets thrown at him and the lightning speed with which the technology is evolving, and I hoped Dad would allow me to take over the cyber tasks. Instead, he almost had a heart attack when I shared my idea with him. After nearly an hour-long tirade about how I would never poke a finger into the Bratva business, Dad promised that he would find me a “nice, safe job” in some financial institution. Someplace where I can meet a “nice, safe accountant” whom I could date.
I hit Enter, saving the changes I’ve made, and take a peek at Rafael. He’s leaning with his back on the helm console, hands in his pockets, watching me. The wind has made a mess out of his hair, and several strands of his dark tresses have fallen across his forehead, making him look less harsh somehow. I can’t believe that a man who hunted me down, had me kidnapped, and then flown halfway around the world so he could wreck me himself for daring to invade his domain, values my skills more than my own father.
“What did your sister say?”
“She asked why I was calling at six in the morning.” I completely forgot about the time difference when I phoned her earlier. “Then, she said Dad sent out a Mafia version of an APB about me.”
“Oh? How does that work?”
“I guess he called every criminal syndicate in the country and threatened to annihilate whichever one is holding me hostage. Or anyone who has info on my whereabouts but hasn’t shared it.”
“So he still believes you’re somewhere in the continental US?”
“Yes. I’m usually more careful when I check in with Dad, always keeping the time difference in mind.”
“Interesting.” Rafael smirks. “Someone might figure that you’re actually enjoying your stay in Sicily.”
I blink, then quickly look away when the realization hits me—I am enjoying it here. Being with him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I mumble, pretending to work again. “Can you call Mitch and ask if the new login credentials for the client database are working on his side?”
“No.”
My head snaps up. “Why not?”
“Because we should go for a swim first.”
I suck in a breath. Images of Rafael without his clothes on flood my mind, setting off a tingling sensation in my core. Wrong. So so wrong. I can’t be falling for a man who left me a check as payment for the kisses we shared. Who won’t allow me to return home.
Clearing my goddamned mind is useless. Those thoughts invade me again, even more intense and erotic. The two of us, naked, as he covers my body with his. Rough palms stroking my skin while his piercing green eyes singe right through me. Killer’s eyes. I’m turned on and ready to combust in spite of him being a cold-blooded murderer. Or maybe . . . maybe it’s those sinister vibes he gives off that make him more alluring.
“Um . . . I’m going to skip it. There’s some stuff I need to wrap up.” I quickly look back at the laptop.
